


Little Yellow Tags: Interlude

by lurkdusoleil



Series: Little Yellow Tags [10]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, M/M, Multiple Participant Sex, Party, Public Sex, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:11:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurkdusoleil/pseuds/lurkdusoleil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys give the Skank life a final, explosive sendoff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Yellow Tags: Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> This part is to be read between prompts taking place in high school setting and NY setting (before prompt 8).
> 
> Warnings for recreational drug use (ecstasy), consensual sex under the influence of a mind-altering drug. heavy D/s, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public sex (involving other people touching, and explicit fantasies of multiple participant sexual activity), minor breathplay, very VERY brief daddy!kink.
> 
> Please do not try any of this yourself unless you are completely informed and safe and ready to take personal and total responsibility for any possible consequences.

"What...what would you think of a...sort of goodbye celebration?"

Kurt looks up at Blaine from his magazine and raises an eyebrow.

"What does this celebration involve?" Kurt asks suspiciously. Blaine is looking uncertain and a little nervous, and Kurt's never sure where that will lead.

"Ronnie knows a few people out in Columbus," Blaine explains. "They're having a...a party."

"I'm guessing they're not going to be sitting around drinking tea and playing Parcheesi."

"No. It's technically a rave."

Kurt puts the magazine down completely, crossing his legs and looking up at Blaine with narrowed eyes.

"Like glow sticks and drugs and vomit on the floors rave?"

"It'll be a little classier than that," Blaine says. "Considering it's run by the people who head the GSA at Ohio State. It's...it's mostly going to be people like us."

"Gay people."

"Well...queer, yeah. Look, we decided to slow it down on the Dom-sub stuff in college. And I'm going to be dyeing my hair a normal color and dropping the Skank act, and...I think maybe it deserves a good sendoff. Something...something a little wild."

"You're going to miss it," Kurt guesses, smiling sadly up at Blaine. Blaine had wanted to make a better impression in college, be more of himself in the open, and Kurt had supported it totally. But Kurt understands that this has been a big part of Blaine for several years now, and it's helped him a lot. And he can't lie--there have been a lot of good times between them involving it.

"Sometimes, I might," Blaine admits. He sits on the couch next to Kurt and looks at him earnestly, taking his hands. "If you're uncomfortable with it, I understand, and we'll stay in and you can do my hair early and we'll shop for a new wardrobe online."

"What would it entail?" Kurt asks. And Blaine smiles at him, feeling that it means yes--and Kurt smiles back, because it does.

\--

It's what Blaine called a "paint party." No glow sticks. Just a ton of bright paint on everything and everybody, in puddles on the ground, in the sprinkler system, in cans and bottles all over to throw on the dancers in the middle of the floor. And of course, drinks and drugs and smoke and heavy music.

They have rules. Blaine is in charge, being familiar with this sort of atmosphere. Kurt is wearing a collar, as well--thin, soft black leather, either end of it held at the front of Kurt's throat with burnished silver birds, shaped to fly toward each other, a heavy ring in the center held between their beaks. Kurt had found the buckle at a vintage shop and immediately gave it to Blaine, who had presented Kurt with this halfway through the summer--a symbol of what they are for Kurt to wear when he needs it, something more solid than the tattoo but something that can be removed when they aren't exchanging power as well. Something to fit the lifestyle they want when they start together in New York.

A simple leash is attached to the ring, and Blaine wears it around his left wrist, tightened like a bracelet. They're both wearing simple white t-shirts and jeans, knowing that they're likely to be drenched with sweat and paint anyway, and the jeans are loose, due to their agreed-upon plans.

Kurt's nervous. But the rush is significant, and he buzzes with it, breathing steadily against the press of the collar, knowing Blaine will keep him safe.

"Are you ready?" Blaine asks, stopping him halfway down the block from the warehouse the party is taking place in. "We can skip this part if you want--"

"No, I want to try it," Kurt insists. "Please, sir. I'm okay with all the things we decided on."

"Okay, beautiful," Blaine says. "What's your safeword?"

"Mesh," Kurt replies easily. "Do you think we should come up with another one, considering the audience, or...?"

"I think we'll be okay," Blaine says. "Like I said...not too many Skanks here. Mostly college kids cutting loose. Ronnie's brother's boyfriend set it up, and she described him as a college-level you, so if we look beyond whatever insult she was implying, I'm sure we can assure this is going to be incredible. But seriously, safeword any time, and we'll stop and get a cab to the hotel room, okay?"

Kurt nods, taking a deep breath.

"Okay. So...do it here, or--"

"Yeah," Blaine says. He looks around warily at the mostly-empty street, and then pulls a ridiculously small paper packet out of his pocket. He shakes out two electric blue tablets, like little candies, and Kurt stares at them a little apprehensively.

"We can trust these?" he asks nervously. Blaine tugs on his collar sharply, once, and Kurt gasps, bowing his head.

"I would never give you anything like this if I weren't totally certain of the source, baby," Blaine says, pouring authority into his words, and Kurt knows he may have hurt Blaine with his doubt. He nods silently, and whispers a quick, sincere  _sorry_.

"Don't be, baby," Blaine soothes, petting Kurt's hair with his free hand. "I know you're nervous. But trust me. I'll take care of you."

Kurt nods again, and lifts his head, opening his mouth and slipping his tongue out in offering. Blaine licks his lips in response, and then puts one of the tabs on his own tongue before pressing it to Kurt's, slipping him in the tab. Kurt pulls it into his mouth, allowing Blaine's tongue to follow it, and loses himself in the kiss until the tab is dissolved and sliding sweetly down his throat. It was flavored, a tart fruity  _something_ , and Kurt smiles at it before returning the favor to Blaine, passing the tab between their tongues and kissing him til it's gone.

"Let's go," Blaine says, holding the leash tight and leading Kurt toward the warehouse, now less than two blocks away. "I want to be settled when it kicks in."

\--

The party is insane. The music isn't too loud--it's actually kind of low, but a throbbing bass beat twines around the bodies writhing on the dance floor, marked as separate from the rest of the basement of the warehouse by strings of blacklights hung from the ceiling in between massive posts. Around the edge, dim, bare, incandescent bulbs hang from wires, stark and simple, hovering over casual groupings of tables and cozy chairs and couches, like they came straight from some eclectic coffee house. There's a bar in one corner, doing fantastic business among the hundred or so people that are gathered there.

Immediately, Blaine sits down in a wide, soft leather chair, having Kurt kneel at his feet while they sip at drinks Ronnie's brother had brought them. But when Blaine starts to feel the edge of his world go fuzzy, he leans forward and unclips the leash from Kurt's collar, wrapping the excess leather further around his forearm and clipping it there safely.

"Do you want to dance, beautiful?"

Kurt nods shyly, his breath coming deep and steady, and Blaine can see that he's starting to drift, from the drug and from the calm of being on his knees for Blaine. Blaine smiles at him, and nods to the dance floor.

"Go ahead," he says. "I'll be right here watching. Go show them how beautiful you are."

Kurt does as he's told, slipping demurely into the throng. But as soon as he starts dancing, about halfway to the center of the group, wild and abandoned and lost in his haze among warm bodies, the shyness falls away, leaving a writhing temptation of flesh and sex and sweat in its place, eyes shut as he throws his arms up and swivels his hips, hitting the beat viciously and tossing his head back and gasping visibly for breath.

It's not long before others start to notice him. He's just been sprinkled with bits of pink paint from a sprinkler nearby, and it glows on his porcelain skin under the blacklights. Soon, guys are dancing with him, covered in paint themselves, smearing it along Kurt's hips and arms and legs and torso, respectfully staying away from the collar, but allowing themselves this taste of what is Blaine's. Someone even finds one of the bottles of paint to squirt on him, leaving splashes of bright purple across his chest, making the thin t-shirt cling to his muscles and the tight peak of his nipples. He leans back against someone, allowing himself to fall back into thick arms of a tall, beefy guy who smears several streaks of paint down the front of his thighs.

That's when Blaine decides to intercede. He's achingly hard for Kurt, watching him lose himself like that, the object of desire for everyone inclined to him in the room, and it's a big number. That's  _his_ perfect angel, his beacon of light in the darkness, shining through even the splashes of paint and the darkness of sweat in his hair and on his clothes. That  _his_ angel being touched.

Blaine is overcome with sudden, overwhelming  _need_. Need for Kurt, need to show everyone there who Kurt belongs to, need to claim him. So he stands, and unravels the leash from around his forearm, and strides through the men on the floor, almost running right into Kurt before wrapping him up in his arms and spinning him away, grinding into him and groaning when he feels how hard Kurt is.

"Mine," he growls, snapping the leash back on the collar, tugging Kurt down into a deep, hard kiss. Kurt tastes like sweat and coffee and a bit like the sneak of Blaine's cigarette he'd had in the car on the way here, and his tongue is so _hot_ and his skin is slick and hard and smooth and the paint is cool and splashing all over both of them and god when have Kurt's  _lips_ felt this  _incredible_ \--

Oh. The E kicked in, Blaine thinks, grinding into Kurt and feeling like his whole body is on the edge of coming right there. Everything... _bursts_ in him, spreads, tendrils and threads slipping through all of his nerves, like every single bit of him from his core to his periphery wants to join in the pleasure Kurt ignites against him, inside him. And  _god_ , they've still got plans, they've got things they wanted to do, and it's going to be so  _incredible_ \--

"Do it," Kurt gasps, when Blaine bites down on his neck. "Do it, now, now, I can't wait, Blaine, now--"

Blaine growls and complies, pressing Kurt backwards and guiding him until he hits one of the posts on the edge of the dance floor. He slams Kurt into it, pressing into him hard, and Kurt gasps for breath.

"Yes, please," he moans, lifting his arms up above his head, fingers scrabbling at the paint and metal beneath them. He finally latches onto the thick wind of string around it, holding up the blacklights, and they shake when his fingers slip into it, holding him stretched and taught, his muscles standing hard out against his skin. He throws his head back in submission, and Blaine grabs him hard, tugging his pants hard until they fall, leaving Kurt bare from his hips down, cock bobbing right there in the open, flushed dark under the lights.

There's a murmur rising behind him, but Blaine ignores it, sinking down and holding the leash tight as he starts sucking Kurt, working simultaneously with his hands to pull out the lube in his pocket to spread across his fingers, slipping them back to thrust into Kurt.

He's so  _warm_. Kurt is warm, his blood thrumming beneath his skin, and Blaine can feel it on his tongue and around his fingers. He can actually feel Kurt's  _veins_ pumping in him, his  _life_. And it's incredible, knowing that Kurt letting Blaine in this deep, to feel his heart so closely.

And on top of that, Blaine swears he and Kurt have connected, somehow. His own ass is untouched, but he feels like he's opening up himself, spreading as his fingers slip into Kurt, and his cock throbs with the phantom of a mouth around him, matching the attention he's giving Kurt. He's never really believed in much beyond what he could feel and see himself, but he's definitely feeling this--can he really believe it?

He wants to. He  _wants_ to be tied to Kurt through more than leather and words and sex and even love. He wanted to be connected to him through their souls, no matter how romantic and cheesy that might sound to someone like Ronnie or Quinn. He  _wants_ that, he wants forever, and Kurt is giving it to him through his body, right here on the dance floor.

And he's giving him more than that. His trust is with Blaine now, because something they discussed is about to happen, and Blaine's glad of the easy hum of the drugs in his system, because he's certain he should be nervous about this.

He stands, removing himself from Kurt for a brief instant before he drops his pants, lubing up his cock quickly. Kurt kicks his pants off one leg impatiently, allowing him to spread further, and Blaine steps between his legs.

"Open for me, baby," Blaine whispers, positioning himself and thrusting in in one hard push.

Kurt cries out, and arches his back, and Blaine thinks he's so beautiful he would cry if he could focus on anything but not coming right that second at the perfect tightness around his cock spreading to every inch of him.

He settles, holding Kurt up as best he can, and turns to look at some of the guys watching them. He grins, and then reaches out to one, grabbing his hand and placing it on Kurt's calf.

He guides three more hands from three more men onto Kurt's legs and arms before more guys get the idea, holding Kurt up and caressing him and gripping him tight while Blaine starts to fuck him in earnest, rucking up his shirt and touching his skin, smearing paint and sweat and raking his nails down, leaving blazing trails of white among the color.

"You like them looking at you?" Blaine asks, caught in a swirling vortex of pleasure pulled from Kurt's body and pushed back in with every thrust, an endless feedback as the sensations drift between them, as though they're feeling what the other feels, penetrating while penetrated and vice-virsa, kissing while kissed, touching while touched, fucking while fucked and feeling hands on them that they aren't sure belong to anyone or might not even be on their own skin. "Like them touching you?"

"Yes," Kurt admits, breathless, hitching as he's pushed up the wall, held tight in countless hands. "Unh--yes,  _fuck_ , fuck me, fuck me Blaine, please--"

"Tell me," Blaine says, leaning in and mouthing at Kurt's throat, needing to feel his pulse and breath and straining tendons beneath his lips.

"Feels like--like I can feel it," Kurt sobs, babbling in Blaine's ear helplessly. "Like their eyes are on my skin. Like they're touching me with everything, with their  _thoughts_ , I can  _hear_ them fucking me in their heads, and hear them fucking you, and both of us, and it feels like they're doing it,  _Blaine_ \--"

"You like that?" Blaine suggests darkly. "You want to be fucked by all these men? Feel their cocks next to mine, spread you open wide--"

"Oh  _shit_ whatever you want, need you,  _need_ you--"

"What's it feel like?" Blaine grits out, and he can't believe he hasn't come, it's inches from happening every second and still he holds on, face held tight, brows drawn, eyes clenched, holding on for dear life, handprints in paint and bruises on Kurt's hips, harder and more lasting than any hand that brushes him from another man tonight. "Tell me, need to know if I'm--"

"You can feel it," Kurt pants. "You can, I can feel you, I can feel myself around you, and everyone's fucking me, I can't--I'm going to come, I can't--"

"Don't come," Blaine blurts, grabbing Kurt's balls and squeezing tight where they meet his cock, tugging down. Kurt cries out in delicious agony, flexing in the hands holding him, pushing himself down on Blaine's cock as much as he can where he is restrained.

"Need--"

It's out of the blue--but Blaine comes inside Kurt right then. He's not sure if he's silent or loud, if he moans or screams or just bites his lip, but when he comes back to himself, from the white wash of pleasure through his body, he's still hard, still fucking Kurt, the slide slicker and dirtier now, his own come mixing in with the lube and paint and everything covering them, and everything feels so fucking  _good_ \--

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," Kurt chants. "Fuck, yes, yes,  _yes_ , did I come? I'm sorry, sorry, I came, you told me no and I did, I'm so sorry--"

On instinct alone, Blaine brings a hand up and wraps it around Kurt's throat, holding him still, silencing him with a gentle squeeze. Kurt gasps shallowly against his fingers, eyes opening wide in shock.

"You didn't come, baby," he says, and fucks Kurt harder, holting him into the post. "Not yet. Just a little longer, beautiful, keep going just a little bit, or I'll have to fuck you through it, have to fuck your tight little hole clenching around me, wouldn't even slow down or let you catch up, just keep fucking you, let one of these guys fuck you too, slip in behind--"

" _Ahh_ ,  _god_ _, Blaine_ \--"

His rim drags against Blaine's cock, and he's so tempted to slip a finger in with it, give Kurt a taste of something they agreed they'd only fantasize about, something they've keep off the table until much later, if it ever happened at all. This is as close as they want to get for now, but it's so  _close_ , and all these men want them both, want to see more, feel more, be part of it, and it goes right to Blaine's head, and he knows it goes to Kurt's, showing off like this, being desired, being  _wanted_.

He knows Kurt gets off on having the attention he's always wanted, even if it's so much  _dirtier_ than he ever imagined. There's a lot about Kurt that's dirtier than either of them expected, and Blaine is so lucky to have this sweet, sexy man wrapped around and inside him, in every way.

He's starting to feel tired, though, starting to feel overwhelmed from all the nerves firing beneath his skin, all the sensations from the both of them, jumping, leaping between them, crackling like muted fire.

"Need to come," Kurt begs. "Please, let me come. Let me come, Daddy, please--"

Blaine slams up into him, shocked and turned on by the shock and the way Kurt always throws him for a loop, his head spinning with the slip, the inclusion of something they'd never even discussed, something dangerous, something taboo, and Blaine presses in hard and he's not sure if he has anything in him, but he comes again, shouting hoarsely into Kurt's ear, biting down hard on the soft lobe, relishing the cries that fall from Kurt as he feels warm splashes of come surging over their stomachs, dripping down onto their groins.

Coming down takes far too long. The feeling of it is extended, like their climaxes last for minutes, ages,  _eternities_ , and they shiver against each other, letting out little moans and exclamations when another shudder of pleasure ripples through them, whispers floating from lips to ears like moths already caught flame, dying in the murmur of the crowd and the bass and the haze of illicit substances rushing through their heads.

"Can we go back to the hotel?" Kurt asks, his mouth barely moving, and only the fact that it's right against Blaine's ear allows him to hear it. "Want to...want to shower."

Blaine laughs, giddy and delighted, so fond of his beautiful boy thinking of a shower right now, half-naked in front of stranger, just touched and grabbed by them while he was fucked into pieces before their eyes. He's not self-conscious, not hiding, still floating with his throat held tight with Blaine's mark in leather and silver. So Blaine pulls out, and glances around at the men who are considerate enough to slip away now, with them clinging and holding so privately now. He puts Kurt back in his pants, and pulls up his own from his thighs, and massages Kurt's arms as they fall down from their place above his head. Kurt groans in pain and Blaine kisses him tenderly.

"A bat," he says. "The room has a bath. With jets. And I packed oil."

Kurt makes a noise far too sexual for someone who can barely move, and Blaine tampers down the fierce reaction of his body, struggling against physics and biology to harden again. It's not the time--it's the time to care for Kurt, who is slumping like he's already sleeping, even though Blaine feels the same fatigue in his very bones.

They can rest together. Soon.

"I'll call a cab," he says. It can't come soon enough.


End file.
